Yes, the sunlight glitters on the water
as it has before, as it will again.
Your seeing it this way can hardly matter.
You are one of millions, like those azure threads
warping and weaving the surface of the water,
drawing themselves in ripples over matter,
unraveled by the wind. The gulls mock
you. They squawk, Her seeing does not matter.
Squawk! As they swoop through air again.
They’ve seen one person here after another.
The sun still glimmers and it has no aim
besides this sluggish crawl on land and water,
the water clearly azure near the shore
where cliffs hang, where the coves are sheer.
Above the waves’ azure shifts, gulls’ wings aim
only to catch wind drifts. The water
under them glitters, glitters again,
transparent stuff somebody else has seen.